


Young, Scrappy, and Hungry

by thegreatpumpkin



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M, Street Gangs AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 21:07:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7070317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatpumpkin/pseuds/thegreatpumpkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex stopped talking, because Aaron had pinned him against the wall and pressed a hand over his mouth.  “Look, kid,” he hissed. “I’m guessing you’re new in town, so I’m going to give you some free advice. Shut your fucking mouth.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Young, Scrappy, and Hungry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [consumptive_sphinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/consumptive_sphinx/gifts).



> I don't even go here. This was supposed to be a quick silly birthday fic for Grace, who likes Hamilton and AUs, but then it kept getting bigger in my brain and it's probably going to end up at least four or five chapters. WHOOPS. Updated...when I can.

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, are you Aaron Burr?”

Aaron hadn’t been called _sir_ since he was a boy in skirts, before his parents died—and even then it was only _would little sir like more cake?_ It shouldn’t have been as satisfying as it was to hear, especially not out of the mouth of a know-nothing kid who looked like he’d just scurried up from the docks.

“Who’s asking?” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, though he didn’t use his forbidding voice. He might have had a _tiny_ thread of curiosity about the kind of kid who called another street rat _sir_ and found him by asking too many questions of the wrong people.

“Oh!” The kid was like a newspaper drawing, surprised not just with his face but with his whole body. “Ha! Sorry. I’m, um, I’m Alex. Alex Hamilton. I’ve been looking for you.”

“No kidding,” Aaron muttered under his breath, because the kid’s big mouth had left a trail a mile wide. It was a wonder someone hadn’t shut him up already, but Aaron had let the kid catch up, all because of this damn curious streak he had. Louder, he said, “You found me. What do you want?”

Alex beamed like he’d just been invited in for tea. Then again, Aaron supposed maybe anything short of outright hostility seemed like friendliness when you were as irritating as this kid. “I heard you used to owe the Princeton Tigers big money. And that you cleared the debt in two years. They _never_ clear debts, especially not when—”

Alex stopped talking, because Aaron had pinned him against the wall and pressed a hand over his mouth. He hadn’t stopped _trying_ to talk, which should have irritated Aaron more, but he actually kind of admired it in a bemused way. Still, it was one thing when he was endangering his own life, and another when he was painting a target on Aaron’s back. “Look, kid,” he hissed. “I’m guessing you’re new in town, so I’m going to give you some free advice. Shut your fucking mouth.” Alex blinked at him; he sighed and let him go, then leaned in, voice low. “That’s not a threat. I’m serious. The Tigers are nothing to mess with. Do you owe them? Or do they have something on you?”

“They invited me to join.”

That stretched credibility to its breaking point, unless the kid had some hidden talent—unlikely. “Then what are you doing chasing me down?”

Alex shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, the invite’s probably revoked. I maybe had a disagreement with their money man.”

“A disagreement.”

“The kind involving fisticuffs?”

Aaron stepped away, took a stroll down the alley to calm himself, then circled back. “You punched _Witherspoon?_ What the _hell_ , kid? Do you have a death wish?”

Alex jutted his chin out at that. “He tried to shortchange me. I was going to let it go, but...then he called my mother a whore.”

“Jesus.” Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose. “Everyone calls everyone’s mother a whore down here. It’s practically a ‘good morning.’ You going to pick a fight with everyone who calls you a son of a bitch, too?”

“Maybe.” There was a trace of a sulk in the tone. “She’s dead. Why shouldn’t I defend her honor? I don’t have anybody else left.”

“Join the club.” Aaron passed a hand over his shorn scalp, looking to the sky for help, as if he believed in some kind of deity. “Okay. Okay.” He didn’t owe this dumb kid one single thing, but he guessed he had some kind of soft spot for orphans. Too bad, since they were ten a penny down here. “Look, kid, let me buy you something to eat, you look like you’ve been living off water and sunshine. And after that I’m going to explain how things _are_ here, before you get yourself a complimentary ticket for a facedown river cruise.”

The way Alex lit up at that made him want to punch something. Probably not John fucking Witherspoon, though.

“Come on,” he said roughly, cuffing Alex on the shoulder to make him move.

They went to a place down the street that had slumgullion and hard bread for cheap, but Alex gulped it down like it was four-star fare. Aaron had been that hungry once, when he’d first been dropped on the streets; watching it in someone else brought up a sort of panic in him. He’d almost forgotten what it was like.

“Listen, kid—Alex,” he amended. “You have _got_ to learn make nice with people. Especially important people.”

“Witherspoon isn’t that important.” Alex said it through a mouthful of bread. No manners, this one.

“He’s—”

Aaron didn’t get to finish the thought, because just then, a trio of young men burst through the door, raucous and laughing. “Ale! Somebody get us some ale before we die of thirst!”

He’d never thought of himself as a very lucky person, but he still turned up his collar and put his back to the door, hoping not to be noticed. Maybe for once, fortune would favor him. “Stop staring,” he hissed at Alex, but the kid was enthralled.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Aaron Burr!” a familiar voice said in one ear, as someone on the other side clapped him hard on the back. Clearly, he had not gone unnoticed. He swore silently, then turned to acknowledge them each in turn.

“John. Hercules.” He tried to think of ways to discourage them before the kid got any ideas. He couldn’t have imagined _worse_ influences for a kid who didn’t know when to shut up. “Where’s—”

“Salut,” said the Marquis cheerfully. He had somehow come to be perched on their table, one boot resting on the arm of Alex’s chair as if the kid was no more than a piece of scenery. God, Aaron liked that one the least.

“You know, Burr, this is Kings territory,” John said, slinging an arm over his shoulders. “Princeton man keeps coming this way without picking a fight, I’m going to have to conclude it’s because he likes me.”

Aaron shrugged him off with distaste. “I’m unaffiliated. You know that.”

“Sure, sure. How’s respectability treating you?”

Alex leaned forward, keenly interested. “Wait, is that how you got out? You went straight?”

Three heads swiveled, as if the chair had suddenly started asking questions.

Laurens spoke first, his grin predatory, like a mountain lion scenting fresh meat. “Who’s the kid?”

“Yes,” the Marquis said before Aaron could answer. He leaned in towards Alex, and his eyes on Alex’s face were an entirely different sort of predatory. “Who _is_ the kid?”

“Never mind the kid, he’s—” but it was too late, the kid in question had already opened his mouth.

“Alex. Alex Hamilton. So this is Kings territory?” He looked around with shining eyes, as if the place were somewhere worth having. “I guess that makes you the Kings, then.”

“Got it in one.” John was still looking at the kid like he wanted to acquire him, though Aaron hadn’t the faintest idea why. He was undersized, underfed, and so far the only skill he’d demonstrated was a total lack of appropriate fear. “John Laurens, Hercules Mulligan, and...”

The Marquis’ handshake was entirely too...handsy for Aaron’s liking, but Alex didn’t seem to mind. “They call me the Marquis, but for you...” He winked, and Aaron could not restrain a nearly instinctive eyeroll, “Lafayette will do.”

“Charmed, he’s sure,” Aaron said tightly, “but we have business. Do you mind?”

“Not a bit.” Hercules grinned his worrisome grin, but John shouldered him lightly and tipped his head towards a nearby table.

“Sure, Burr. We’ll buy a round and get to know Alex here better once your business is concluded.” The Marquis leaped down from the table to join the other two, and John smiled sunnily at the kid. “Take your time, we’ll be here all night.”

Aaron watched them moodily until they’d moved out of earshot—not a far distance in the noisy establishment—then swiveled around to give Alex a warning glare. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t. Those three are all kinds of trouble.”

“They seem all right.”

“They’re _not_ ,” Aaron snapped. “Now listen, I’m trying to help you here. You don’t survive by making enemies, but you don’t survive by making the wrong friends, either. You have to learn to keep your head down and your mouth shut. You keep asking questions of the wrong people, you’re going to wind up dead. And if you keep asking questions about _me_ , you’re going to take me down with you.”

Alex eyed him. “Why are you so worried? If I got out from under the Tigers in two years, I’d be crowing about it.”

“Which is exactly why you couldn’t do it,” Aaron muttered, but the kid’s eyes were already straying back to the rowdy trio a few tables away, his expression distracted. Aaron snapped his fingers in front of Alex’s face. “Look, kid. Do you want my help or not? Let’s get out of this shithole, I’ll show you around, and tell you how to make nice with the Tigers, at least.”

Alex looked briefly conflicted. “I—” But just then a burst of raucous laughter came from behind them; Aaron could see the precise moment he lost the kid in his all-too-transparent expression. “Maybe later? I’m...reconsidering Princeton, to be honest.”

“Oh my God,” Aaron said, knowing it was fruitless and trying anyway, “tell me you’re not thinking of joining the Kings. They’re the bottom of the barrel, kid—sorry, _Alex_. The only reason they’ve survived this long is that no one takes them seriously.”

That was precisely the wrong thing to say. Alex grinned, suddenly. “No one ever takes me seriously, either. And yet...”

“Shit. This isn’t whatever little backwater you tumbled in from. This is the city. I’m not exaggerating when I say you _will_ get your throat cut if you piss off the wrong people.”

“Well, I should’ve been dead already.” Something in Alex’s face went grim and dangerous, even though his smile stayed put. “I’m not going to tiptoe around. If it comes for me, it comes for me, but until then...I’m outrunning it. Not waiting nicely.”

Aaron threw his hands up in exasperation. “Suit yourself. I’m going. Come along or don’t.” He rose and made for the door, and was not entirely surprised when Alex didn’t follow.

The kid wasn’t his problem, or his responsibility. He wished that made him feel less like Pilate washing his hands.

He told himself sternly to stop being dramatic. The kid was definitely neither savior nor saint.


End file.
